


Count Your Blessings, Make 'Em Count

by jinlin5



Series: Husbands and Shit [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Freeform, Gallavich, Happy Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Love, M/M, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Nothing but love, Post-Season/Series 10, Stream of Consciousness, Swearing, basically Ian is just really into his husband
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlin5/pseuds/jinlin5
Summary: What’s the meaning of life?Ian has started to realize that there is no all encompassing answer to that question. It’s different for everyone.His answer is Mickey.And it’s cheesy as all hell - sounds like a line from a chick flick that even the script writers are ashamed of - but it’s fucking true.______________________________Ian and Mickey have been married for almost a year, and Ian's been thinking about what he's grateful for.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Husbands and Shit [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713814
Comments: 23
Kudos: 217





	Count Your Blessings, Make 'Em Count

**Author's Note:**

> I was suddenly hit with inspiration this morning and had to get this out into the universe. If you're into Ian and Mickey both getting the tender love and affection they sorely need (and deserve!!) you came to the right place my friend! 
> 
> Personally, I am beyond grateful to have had the wonderful Iqra (camnoelgallavich) edit this for me at very short notice! She is so awesome, go check out her works!
> 
> This is pretty much half Ian's stream of consciousness, and half wholesome (ish) Gallavich fluff! Enjoy lovelies <3

[](https://ibb.co/BspFSTT)

Ian thinks about his husband. A lot, actually. 

_Obviously_ , you might say to yourself. How could he not think about the man he married on a daily basis? And while Ian’s thoughts do often concern the mundane things in life such as:

_Which one of them will spend their precious day off running errands?_

_What their combined savings should be put toward after nearly a year of maintaining a positive number in the account?_

_Where the fuck does Mickey keep hiding his favorite pair of running shorts once he takes them out of the wash?_

It is in the early hours of the morning, or late into the night, or in the moments when things are quiet and still, when Ian’s thoughts turn more philosophical. Call it left overs from his days of theological and biblical exploration, but he’s always been a big picture sort of guy, and Mickey…

Mickey’s his big picture.

And he’d never considered that a _person_ could be your big picture. That a single human being could answer the philosophical questions that have haunted scholars and poets for centuries - since the beginning of time. 

What’s the meaning of life? 

Ian has started to realize that there is no all encompassing answer to that question. It’s different for everyone. 

His answer is _Mickey_. 

And it’s cheesy as all hell - sounds like a line from a chick flick that even the script writers are ashamed of - but it’s fucking _true_. 

The thing about it is, Ian often marvels at the way Mickey’s let him see it _all_ . The roughness. The softness. The laughter and tears. Most days, Ian’s not sure that he ever deserved it - even half of it, but _fuck_ , Mickey gave it to him anyway. 

Still gives it to him. 

Everyday. 

And Ian’s _grateful_ for it, because he knows how goddamn difficult the whole thing is. In fact, _grateful_ seems like way too small of a word to describe the way the breath gets caught in his lungs when he thinks about the magnitude of it all. 

Sometimes he’s positive Mickey doesn’t quite get it.

Sometimes when Mickey hugs him after a long shift on the rig, even though Ian is sticky with partially dried sweat and smells of blood and guts. 

Sometimes when they devour take out on the couch and laugh with their mouths open, full of food, and he listens to Mickey endlessly shit-talk the dumbass manager of Old Army. 

Sometimes when Ian’s fucking into him deep and slow before their day begins, and Mickey’s curled around him, and everything fits like a glove. 

In those moments, Ian can’t stop himself from thinking about what things could have been like for his husband if he’d lived a different life. 

If Mickey had been raised in a home with unconditional love heaped upon him from the start. With food in his belly. Bedtime stories. His lunch packed for him every morning, someone to wave him off at the bus stop and be there when he got home from school. 

Who could Mickey have been if he’d had a father who told him that sometimes boys can like boys. That boys could hug and kiss and touch other boys in a way that’s meant to feel important and special. Like _love_. 

Hell, even if he’d had what Ian had; a father who told him to fuck whoever he wanted as long as it was the sex was good and free. 

Who would Mickey be then? 

Ian eventually realizes this train of thought is redundant. Unhelpful. 

If Mickey’s edges weren’t so goddamn rough, his center might not be so soft. So warm. So _Mickey_. 

That’s another one of Ian’s many philosophical thoughts, which he knows he should write down someday soon so he never forgets them. Whenever he tries to put pen to paper, even after all his time spent reading in prison and pouring over scriptures like a monk, the words just won’t fucking come. 

They’re more like feelings anyway. And they’re damn difficult to articulate. Meant to be experienced. Not captured or recorded. 

In the end, Ian supposes, things might actually happen for a reason. Not because a deity preordains it. Not because the universe conspires to have it unfold. But, because things just _are_ how they are. And he and Mickey are who they are because of it. 

And that’s more or less a good thing. 

For all of Mickey’s loudness and brashness, and for all of the irreparable damage that’s been enacted upon him over the years, Ian is fucking _grateful_ . For all of the nights of bitter arguments and the words they both wish they’d kept to themselves, Ian is _grateful_. 

On occasion, when the world shifts slightly and Ian’s meds go out of whack, Mickey is there to pick him up piece by piece and tenderly reconstruct him, shaping him back into an approximate semblance of his former self. 

And he never complains. And he never makes Ian feel like he’s too much to handle, even though Ian’s almost totally convinced that he has to be. 

Mickey has this fucking supernatural way of making Ian feel like _more_. More than just a good lay. More than just a highschool dropout. More than just a parolee. More than just his diagnosis. Ian can’t wrap his head around how he does it, effortlessly. In all the little things, and the big ones too. 

Mickey makes all of life's bullshit tolerable, and for that, Ian is _grateful_ as fuck.

*

“Your mind’s going a mile a minute, man.” 

Ian’s been standing in front of the full body mirror which is propped up against the wall in their room - part of the shit Fiona left behind when she up and left. He’s taking way too long to do up his dress shirt, rolling each pearly button between his fingers and staring at its reflection in the glass before finally slipping it into place.

“Hmm?” Ian’s thoughts - which have been in perpetual motion all morning - finally slow down and settle as he turns to look at his husband. 

“I _said,_ your fuckin’ brain’s gonna melt if you keep usin’ it like that,” Mickey quips, a wide smirk splitting his face, as he rolls up the sleeves of his own button down, making sure his tattoos are on full display. “Jesus, if you don’t watch it, smokes gonna start comin’ out your ass like an exhaust pipe.”

“Fuck off,” Ian huffs softly, because there are countless ways to say ‘I love you’, and he and Mickey have found just about _all_ of them. He finishes with the last button and smoothes his hands down over the cotton fabric.

They’re heading out soon to their monthly parolee check in with Larry Seaver in his little home office, halfway across the city. When they arrive, they’ll sit with folded hands and pleasant expressions, making sure to leave no doubt in Larry’s mind that they’ve transformed into healthy, well adjusted, law abiding citizens. It’s only a partial lie. And if hell exists, Ian knows they’re both going there anyway, whether they tell a half truth to their parole officer or not. 

Mickey is silent for a beat as he arches his eyebrows up at Ian. 

“Well are you gonna spit it the fuck out or are you gonna make me ask a third time?”

“Spit what out?” Ian shrugs, and begins tucking the dress shirt into his jeans. 

“Whatever it is that’s got you starin’ at your reflection for the last twenty minutes like the goddamn walking dead. Had to come over and make sure you were still breathin’.” Mickey probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but he steps closer to Ian and starts to help him out, slapping his hands away so he can properly tuck the hem of Ian’s shirt down under his belt in the back, in the places where even Ian’s long lanky arms struggle to reach. 

“I dunno. Just thinking, I guess.” 

“About?” Mickey prompts and his arms coil up around Ian’s torso and squeeze once he’s done with the shirt. 

Ian turns his head to the side. Mickey’s chin is resting up on his shoulder, even though he’s straining up on his toes to do so. Mickey’s regarding their reflection in the mirror, and everything feels just how it should. 

“You.” Ian answers truthfully, and presses his lips to the apple of Mickey’s cheek, suctioning on for a second before releasing with a wet smack. 

“Is that right?” One of Mickey’s eyebrows bounces up high on his forehead, “Dirty things, I hope.” He teases, pulling away and smacking Ian’s ass cheek with considerable force. 

“Not really,” Ian laughs and whirls around to grab a hold of Mickey before he can duck away, circling both of his wrists and reeling him back in. Mickey doesn’t resist. 

“What then?” Mickey grunts as he’s being yanked forward, and ends up pressed so close to Ian’s body that he has to arch his neck back to look Ian in the eyes.

“Just… everything,” Ian bows his head forward and buries his face in the crook of Mickey’s neck. He breathes in so deeply that someday he thinks he might just inhale Mickey altogether.

“Ah, right, that fuckin’ narrows it down…” Mickey rolls his eyes heavenward but trails his fingers through the downy hairs on the back of Ian’s head that are just starting to grow in after the most recent razoring. “Can you be a little more specific, Confucius?”

At that Ian just shakes his head against Mickey’s skin. His brain still feels a bit foggy from his morning round of meds, and his tongue is tied. Mickey decides not to poke any further.

They stand in the embrace for a lifetime before Ian finally says something. 

“Maybe some of it was… a _little_ dirty…” Ian grins unabashedly as he pulls back to look at Mickey.

“That’s more like it. I fuckin’ knew it, you filthy animal,” Mickey hums approvingly, and kisses Ian a few times, barely aiming for his mouth. “How about we get this show on the road and go have our shitty little tea party with Mister Rogers, huh? The sooner we get it over with, the sooner we can come back home and I can let you rearrange my fuckin’ guts. It’s Sunday, after all. It’s what God would want.” 

Ian chuckles giddily and releases Mickey from his grasp. “Alright, alright, let’s go. Don’t wanna keep Mr. Seaver waiting, do we?” 

Mickey snorts in amusement and heads for the doorway, pulling back the accordion partition and letting Ian duck out of the room before snapping it shut behind them.

Ian watches him closely as they descend the stairs. Heading out to face the world. Together. Yet again.

And Ian’s never known another time when he’s had so much to be _grateful_ for. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos make my day and get me motivated to write more! 
> 
> Check out my Insta @gallavich_doodles if you'd like to see my Gallavich fanart!  
> And come visit me on Tumblr !


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